


the letter

by Bookreader525



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: F/F, Female MC - Freeform, I really wrote this with a female MC in mind, One Shot, Rowan uses they/them pronouns, and she's gay af, but it turned out more gender-neutral than I wanted, but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 05:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15041837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookreader525/pseuds/Bookreader525
Summary: You enlist Andre's help in scoring a date. A few days later, an anonymous love letter is delivered.Then things get confusing. You didn't expect yourself to get so flustered when it comes to Penny Haywood.





	the letter

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in Year 3, since I'm about halfway through that right now. My MC is a female Ravenclaw, and I really wrote this with her in mind, but I know more readers tend to like being able to imagine their own MC in any story, so I challenged myself to write in second-person for the first time! I hope it turned out well. And stay tuned, because I've got at least two more Penny/MC-centered story ideas in the works. Thanks for reading!

"You are going to be breaking curses and getting dates in no time!" Andre says with an encouraging grin on his face.

Something hits you, and it sends a chill down your back that's colder than the frosty Hogsmeade air. "Hey," you begin slowly, trying with all your might to be casual, "can you… maybe… help me get a date?"

"Well, most people don't start dating until they're at least fourth-years, but—"

"I'm desperate," you cut in.

He nods. All your tensed muscles melt in relief at that nod. "Who exactly are you—"

Not an ounce of hesitation is there to inhibit you. Somehow, every last question that had been swirling in your mind is gone. You open your mouth, and the second her name passes through your lips you know this is it. "Penny."

* * *

Andre promises you he has a plan brewing, and when he says "brewing," you wonder if he means the plan is an actual love potion. You had thought about using a love potion before, though there are some issues with that idea. For one, you're absolute shit at potions and who among your friends would actually be able to help you with potions? Penny. The other problem, of course, is the fact that any newfound love she would exhibit for you wouldn't be genuine, and rather only a result of the potion. That's not what you want.

You want to see her walk into a room and have her eyes grow big when she sees you. You want to see her eyebrows scrunch up in that cute little way they do when she's perplexed. You want to see a deep blush color in her cheeks when she's around you, you want to hear the slightest stutter in her voice when she says your name.

You spend all of transfiguration class daydreaming. When McGonagall asks you a question, Rowan has to nudge you until you're back down on Earth. McGonagall repeats the question, but you only smile and offer a careless shrug as an answer. Her glare is so malicious that you're shocked she doesn't subtract house points right then and there.

The moment class ends, you point your feet toward the nearest bathroom and plant yourself on the closed toilet seat in the last stall. Rowan follows you in, and they're blabbering all sorts of inquiries that you can't comprehend. It feels like your ears are filled with cotton but your head is light and airy, high with the clouds.

"(Name), what on earth has gotten into you?" Rowan paces to and fro in front of the open stall, their hands holding textbooks tightly to their chest. It's beyond you how they can manage to carry all their heaviest belongings with them everywhere— your books are already piled in a heap at your feet.

You brush some hair out of your face and roll your eyes. "I'm fine, Rowan, really."

"I think Professor McGonagall must hate you now! You almost always get her questions right. Granted, she could've asked you what the color the sky is and you could've said green and she would've agreed and given our house twenty points, but still—"

You interrupt them with a chuckle. "Come on, now. I just needed a breather. Let's get to flying class." With a sigh, you stand and pick up your things.

Rowan gives an excited little jump as the two of you merge back into the corridor traffic. "Oh, yes! I've been wanting to ask Penny how she did on the latest quiz in potions. I only got one wrong, and I'm sure she got everything correct, so I'm dying to know if the answer was salamander blood or powdered…"

They go on and on, but once again you find yourself failing to listen. You swear that never in your life have you been more thrilled to see a certain somebody than right this moment.

* * *

As soon as you and Rowan emerge outside, Penny practically runs over to you both. She's a blur of blonde hair and ruddy cheeks and is clearly about to burst with some kind of news. Your knees quiver and you try to calculate just how to fall forward "accidentally" into her arms if you were to collapse.

"You will not  _believe_  the strange owl I received this morning!" she exclaims when she reaches you.

"Oh, really?" you say.

The three of you stand in line to grab a broom, and she's talking a mile a minute. "It was the most bizarre thing. It was a letter from a secret admirer."

Rowan perks up. "Secret admirer?" they repeat, their words already saturated with interest.

"Yes, and it… it gave me a few hints about who it could be, but they're very vague," Penny goes on. She produces a neatly folded piece of paper from an inner pocket of her robes. She unfolds it and holds it so you and Rowan can quickly skim over the words written in flawless penmanship:

_Dear Penny Haywood_

_I would tell you if I could_

_My feelings for you are intense_

_So I hope it makes sense_

_For me to send this to you_

_And pray you feel the same way too_

_Signed, your secret admirer_

"You got some hints from  _that_?" Rowan asks. "You already have more of an idea than I do."

Penny sighs and tucks the letter away. "I mean, all I can figure from it is that they're somebody clever enough to make it rhyme. So that rules out someone like Barnaby," she says, and the three of you share a chuckle. That's when she turns to you. "Do you have an inkling who it could be, (Name)?"

You open your mouth, then close it, then finally say, "Well… no, I suppose. It'll take a bit of thinking to figure out that one."

She nods grimly and picks up her broom. "We can discuss it more over supper tonight. We're still meeting, right?"

"Yes," you reply, and your heart flutters.

* * *

Despite this development, you feel like a heavy weight is pressing down on you for the rest of the day. Soaring freely through the air in flying class doesn't help— especially considering she's right there in front of you, her gorgeous hair flowing behind her and billowing in the wind like a shiny ribbon of gold. Even hearing Ben mispronounce the latest spell in charms class thirty times in a row with Rowan's giggles mixed in between doesn't make you feel better.

Why couldn't you just have admitted it right then? You wonder this as you flick your wind around. Flitwick frowns, shakes his head disapprovingly, and directs you how to hold your wand correctly. Even after his help you continue to mess up the spell.

"Damn it," you mutter under your breath. You glance at the large window and see it's finally dusk. Class will be over in a matter of minutes, then you can zoom down to the Great Hall and fix this matter right away. It's easy:  _"Penny, I'm the one who has intense feelings for you."_ No, no, that doesn't sound right— "intense feelings" sounds too awkward when taken off the paper and spoken aloud.

Okay, you muse, how about  _"Penny, I like you."_ That's a good, albeit small, start. But it's a start, and that's all you need. Andre helped light the fire under your arse, and now you have to get moving before it burns you.

* * *

The Great Hall looms before you ten minutes later, the floating candles filling the room with flickering yellow light. It doesn't take you long to spot Penny waiting right where she'd said she'd be. She has your favorite sandwich waiting for you at your place, and you're already three bites deep into it after barely sitting down.

"I was thinking more about the letter," Penny says as she pulls it out again to study it. "The handwriting really does look like a boy's. Do you think…" She trails off, and you have to glance up from your food to prompt her to go on. "Do you think, perhaps… it's from Bill?"

The sandwich slips from your fingers. You can almost imagine her slipping from your fingers in the same way. Oh, Merlin, how badly has this backfired on you…

Why couldn't you have just written the damn letter yourself?

A hard lump forms in your throat. "Oh. Um," you cough.

Her eyes seek out yours through the sudden air of tension between you two. "(Name)," she says, concerned. "Is something the matter?"

"I, uh… I don't think it's Bill," you say suddenly, keeping your tone cold and unreadable. "I mean, he's older, y'know, he's probably more interested in—"

"In girls his age. You're right. I was… that was stupid."

Her defeated mumble catches you by surprise. Your shaky fingers press through the bread of your sandwich until they touch the filling. Not hungry anymore, you set the food down. "Pen. It wasn't stupid, it was just…" You can't find the right word to fill in the blank, however.

"Yeah," she says softly. "Never mind."

Faster than your brain can process the movement, your legs unfold and you get off the bench. "Listen, I just remembered that I have to, um… I have to study with Tonks in the library." You chew on your lower lip, and she raises a brow.

"Study? With  _Tonks_?"

"Yes. I'll see you later." With that, you bolt out of there as fast as your nervous feet can carry you.

Once you've raced down the hallway and turned a corner, you turn and hit your head gently against the wall several times. "You. Bumbling.  _Idiot_!" When your head is sore enough, you switching to kicking the wall angrily. "Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!"

Really, how stupid can you be? Penny is clearly straight as a broomstick. And even if you were a guy, why would  _she_ , the most popular girl in your year, be into someone like  _you_? Someone who can't even bring herself to say "I like you," someone who has to employ the help of someone else to even have a chance of scoring a date. You know you can only put up a front for so long before Penny starts to question you. She isn't dumb. She'll start to realize.

And that thought sends you spiraling into panic.

* * *

A couple painful days later is the next trip to Hogsmeade. Normally you would be excited as ever to go, but this time you're not. Originally the entire friend group was scheduled to go, but Rowan had to cancel to make more time for studying. Then Ben had to cancel because he was worried about catching the flu in the cold. And then Bill cancelled because he and the other Prefects had been assigned to keep watch over the more troublesome students on the trip. And of course Tonks was in detention again.

That leaves just you and Penny. And now you're walking toward town with her, side by side, her all bundled up in a warm winter coat and you shivering in a thin jacket and scarf. Her arms swing cheerfully up and down, up and down. Her cheeks are colored pink, battered by the chilly breeze, and the freckles scattered on her nose and forehead are more highlighted than usual. Though you pretend not to notice.

Most of the awkwardness from a couple days ago has dissipated, but still neither of you have made much attempt at conversation on the way. You grind your molars and try to look at anything, anyone, besides her.

Once there you and her end up in the Three Broomsticks, guzzling a couple pints of butterbeer. The delicious drink warms you up gradually, filling you with a sense of hot determination. You observe your friend as she steals tiny sips from her mug. Her eyes remain focused on the butterbeer, and she won't look at you. You know from memory that her eyes are blue with the palest flecks of green in them. Then somehow your mind shifts to her hair. You imagine running your fingers through those shiny locks. You think of the times she has weaved your hair into her expert signature braids— those times you have lounged with her, bored, in the library or common room— and you notice how her braids now are a little frayed and messy. You realize you've never seen her hair completely down. You wonder what she must look like then. You think about the green streaks in her eyes and the stray strands of honey-colored hair and the freckles on her creamy skin and the way she smiles at you when you say something funny and the way she frowns at you when she's serious and scheming. You think about her and you marvel over her. You realize that Penny Haywood is beautiful no matter what.

Maybe it's the butterbeer swimming in your veins, but you finally speak up. "Pen," you murmur. She has to lean closer to hear you, and your heart swells. "It was me."

"You?" You can see the gears in her head turning. "You— the letter?"

"I wrote it. Well, Andre wrote it for me, actually, he's better at that kind of thing. But yes, I had him help me." You start to laugh. "I- I had him help me woo you, Pen. How hilarious is that?"

But she doesn't laugh. Her eyebrows are raised nearly to her hairline. Something is making her cheeks turn red again. "Are you joking, (Name)?"

"Nope," you say with a snort. "It is funny, though. You see, I thought I could have a chance with you. You, the most popular and beautiful girl I will ever know." You blink a few times, recognizing what words have just left your mouth. Yet now you've dug your grave deep enough that there's no longer a point in trying to climb back out. You continue. "Pen, most people would consider themselves blessed if you just spared them a glance once. You're so smart, you have people lining up in class for you to tutor them. You know every last bit of gossip like it's written on the back of your hand. I mean, w- what's even the point in trying to pursue you? You've got your eye on Bill, and hell, I'm sure he's got his on you, too. I'm okay being just friends, really." You sit back in your chair, and it creaks mournfully like every last bone in your body. "It's fine. It was mad of me to think I had a shot."

All she says in response to that is "You  _like_ me?"

"A lot, yeah."

She shakes her head, shifting her gaze down to the table then back up to you. "You're right, (Name), you really are mad." Her shocked frown morphs into a pleasant grin. "Of  _course_  you have a shot with me, you imbecile."

Your head shoots up so fast something in your neck cracks. You wince and stare at her, slack-jawed. "Huh?"

"I like you a lot, too. And if you seriously think that I would reject you, you're sorely mistaken." She reaches an arm across the table to grab your hand. You nestle your fingers into hers, and now your heart's thudding in your throat.

"You're really serious," you mutter in pure awe. You must look like someone who is experiencing the symptoms of drinking a love potion. Your insides feel melty and your heart has jumped up your throat and out of your mouth, stolen by Penny freaking Haywood.

At last, she nods at you, and the giddiness of the moment makes both of you giggle and hold hands tighter. For the rest of the date, your eyes don't leave hers and your fingers stay woven between hers. You remind yourself to thank Andre later.


End file.
